


The Familiar Unknown

by Catfeyrac



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Amnesia, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-28 08:37:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5085637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catfeyrac/pseuds/Catfeyrac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo is knocked unconscious during the Battle of Five Armies. When he wakes, he has no recollection of the adventure he'd been on, and he goes back to the Shire and moves on with his life, with some frustration at his loss of memory. But when he starts remembering, Gandalf sends Thorin back to Bilbo to help him reclaim his lost memories. And if more happens, then well, let it be said that Gandalf wasn't not a good friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Darkness. The little light Bilbo could see was blurred as he opened his eyes, watching as the colors and shapes began to swim back into reality. He could make out a tall figure standing beside him, and he began to see that it was an old man, his long hair tickling Bilbo. He faintly felt he knew this man, but could not place where he had seen him.

“Bilbo! Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Bilbo said as he lifted his head slightly. “And um… who are you?”

The man looked taken aback for a moment before replying, “Gandalf the Grey, but you already know that.”

Bilbo thought for a moment. Gandalf the Grey, Gandalf the Grey… Ah!

“You’re the wizard who always make such excellent fireworks. But why are you here? This doesn’t look like Bag End… where are we then?”

Gandalf stepped back from him, silent for a moment. Bilbo took the time to observe his surroundings. Nothing much, only a tent, with the flap down. Other than the cot he was lying in, there was nothing much in the room.

“I do believe I should alert one of the healers of your awakening. You’ve had a slight accident, and you won’t want to move for a while. I suppose I will explain more later. For now, chew these leaves, they will sooth any soreness you have.” The wizard said, breaking his reverie as he handed him the leaves. Before he could say another word, he had swept out of the tent, leaving Bilbo alone.

What an odd situation for a Hobbit to be in, Bilbo thought as he chewed them. But he was so tired, and he could feel the juicy tang of the herb calming him, that he supposed anything else could wait for a while as he drifted back into sleep.

* * *

 

As it turned out, he had never gotten answers. All these years later, and he still didn’t know why his neighbors sometimes referred to him as “Mad Baggins” in quiet whispers or what Dwarves had anything to do with him. As far as he remembered, he was a respectable Hobbit. Then again, everyone in the Shire seemed to know something he didn’t, and they were somehow good at keeping it a secret from him. It frustrated the living daylights out of him sometimes, like when he saw visions of fire and gold and bright, piercing blue eyes. He didn’t know what they meant, only that they all terrified him, although the eyes sometimes held warmth.

“Uncle Bilbo, are you alright?” a small voice broke his thoughts.

He turned to look at the young lad sitting beside him, a look of concern on his face. His eyes were blue as well, but Bilbo knew they weren’t they same. He let out a small sigh before smiling back.

“I’m quite fine, Frodo, my lad. You needn’t worry about me.”

“Is it because you can’t remember?” Frodo asked curiously.

Bilbo chuckled, “You always seem to know. I will admit, it can be rather frustrating. I can’t understand why no one will tell me anything. Gandalf wouldn’t even tell me where we were.”

“He said you were far away,” Frodo stated with cogs turning in his brain, “So maybe you were on an adventure!”

Bilbo laughed, “I don’t think so. Me? On an adventure? Surely not.”

Frodo frowned. He looked deep in thought, and for a bewildering moment, Bilbo thought he saw another dark haired figure with the same look, with those piercing blue eyes he’d seen in his dreams. But then, Frodo squirmed and the moment ended.

“Why don’t you just ask him? Maybe he can tell you now, and then you won’t have to be sad all the time anymore.”

Bilbo felt his heart squeeze a tad bit when Frodo said this. He didn’t want the boy to feel like he was unhappy. But at the same time, he had to admit he was right.

“I’m not sad all the time, just confused sometimes. I am quite happy, I assure you, since I have a little rascal to care for,” Bilbo said, poking Frodo’s nose teasingly. “Although, perhaps I will write to Gandalf. I swear he’s avoided me every time he’s in town.”

Frodo giggled, then jumped off the chair he was sitting on. “I’m going to go play with my toys then. Can I see if Sam can come play?”

“Fine, just make sure Hamfast doesn’t need him to help with his garden,” Bilbo chuckled.

“I’ll help if he does, and then we can play!” Frodo said, running out the door.

Bilbo shook his head with a smile. Frodo had become much happier here since Bilbo had taken him in. He could still remember the shyness he’d had to take Frodo out of, and he took joy in the fact that Frodo no longer cried at night for his parents. His grief seemed to be going behind him, and that was reason enough to be joyous… but still, something seemed like it was missing. Bilbo had felt it ever since Gandalf had taken him back to the Shire, and while Bilbo knew he was missing his memories of that time, it seemed like more. Bilbo could never understand why he felt homesick when he saw those eyes, or why Bag End sometimes seemed too quiet. He could swear he heard echoes of songs that were certainly not sung in the Shire running through the halls. He had even forgot how many years had passed since then, and that in itself was a sign that he should finally be told some truth, in his eyes. So he scrambled to his feet, grabbing paper and a quill. Then he sat back down and began to write, relaying everything he’d begun to see, the images that become more frequent.

 _“I am so sorry I doubted you_ …” a rough voice, somehow turned gentle, whispered in his mind. _What did you doubt me for? What made you change your mind? Who are you?_

He kept writing, closing his eyes for a moment as the voice whispered again.

_“I know these walls, this stone…” Why do I know your voice?_

Finally, he finished the letter, feeling like was going mad. Perhaps the nickname wasn’t so far off, if he was hearing voices now. He signed his name and quickly stuffed it inside an envelope, hoping and praying that it would get to Gandalf somehow as he put it in his mailbox. If not, he could resort to chasing him down during the next birthday party he showed up at. As he walked back inside, he thought perhaps it would be best to lie down, as his confusion only grew. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to get another glimpse of those eyes, and perhaps he could remember more. He drifted off with the song in his ears.

_“Far over… the Misty Mountains cold…”_

 

 

“A letter for Mister Gandalf,” said the boy holding said letter in front of the wizard.

Gandalf nodded, taking it and passing him a coin in thanks. He looked at the handwriting in curiosity, recognizing Bilbo’s handwriting. He was sitting in the Prancing Pony, still conflicting whether or not to visit the Shire. Every time he did, he couldn’t help but feel guilty for avoiding the Hobbit, but he didn’t want to have to explain to him. But perhaps now he wouldn’t get much or a choice, Gandalf lamented as he opened it and read.

         _Gandalf,_

_It’s been countless years that I’ve waited and wondered, and I realize that perhaps there is a reason that you have not told me where I was or what I was doing for a year, but you must understand that it is troubling. Even more so now, as I have begun seeing things I don’t recognize, but I still feel as if I know them. I see visions of fire and gold, a town on water, and a pair of blue eyes. I’ve begun hearing a voice, and I heard him singing sometimes. I feel like I’m going mad, Gandalf, and I need answers. Whether or not they do anything, I must know. And I had a memory just now, as I write, a signature. Who is Thorin Oakenshield?_

_Please answer quickly,_

_Bilbo Baggins_

Well… that certainly hadn’t been what Gandalf had been expecting. Perhaps it was time to send his own letter, to a certain Dwarvish King who might be able to help.


	2. Chapter 2

“Thorin, there’s been word from Gandalf. He sent this for you,” Dwalin said gruffly, handing him the scroll, paying no mind to the fact that he had just waltz into Thorin’s living quarters.

“What could Gandalf want?” Thorin bemused, quickly snapping up, “Unless-”

He quickly unraveled the scroll, and Dwalin watched with amusement as Thorin quickly and frantically read over the letter. He could see the ramming stop when Thorin finished reading, and he stayed frozen for a moment before reading back over it again.

“Are you alright? Is it about your tragic lost love?” Dwalin said in a tone that was half sarcastic, but half serious.

It was pure shock that prevented Thorin from replying with another sarcastic retort, instead, he only nodded. Thorin’s throat felt tight as memories came flooding back to him, ones that he tried to suppress for years, as they promised a future that couldn’t ever be.

“He.. He’s starting to remember things. Gandalf believes that we can help him remember,” he said chokingly. “Mahal… He’s starting to remember me.”

Dwalin only nodded slowly for a moment before turning on his heel.  
“So I suppose I should tell Balin that our King is about to go running off to the Shire, eh?”

“I- I wouldn’t just…” but Thorin could not deny that at that very moment, he was ready to run across the map to Bilbo’s home.

“Fili can handle it for a month or so, I suppose. Well, with Balin. Times of peace, trade is well, I see no reason not to.”

“When did you become the voice of reason?” Thorin said at lack of retort.

“One of us has to be,” Dwalin teased, heading for the door. “Anyone we should bring?”

Thorin’s mind blanked for a moment, at a lack of belief that it could happen. He didn’t want to raise his hopes in case it could not… but still.

“Bofur was a good friend of his. I’d say my nephews and Balin, but obviously they can’t. I think Bilbo was rather fond of Ori.”

“Well, that’s understandable,” Dwalin smiled.

Thorin raised an eyebrow, and when Dwalin caught his eye, he frowned and coughed, pretending his face hadn’t turned a shade of pink. “So the two of us, Bofur, and Ori, we’ll get our burglar’s memory back. I’ll tell Balin.” He left before Thorin could say another word.

Thorin shook his head and looked at the chest that stood at the foot of his bed. He hadn’t opened it in years, quickly throwing things in and closing it forever when they had been rebuilding the city. But now he allowed himself to do the very thing he hadn’t let himself do since he had lost Bilbo. He went over and he opened it. His heart felt very heavy, but he still reached in. He retrieved a sword, as Bilbo had liked to call it. A letter opener, really, but Bilbo had saved his life with Sting.

He had always felt like Bilbo deserved to keep it, but it, along with his share of the treasure, lied here in Erebor all these years. Gandalf hadn’t wanted the questions that would come with these items.

Next, his hand felt smooth metal, and he pulled out the mithril shirt he had given Bilbo, only for it to return to him.

His heavy heart grew heavier as he remembered that time, his highest and lowest points of his life. He had claimed his mountain back, yes, but the sickness. He had never gotten to apologize to Bilbo for what he had said, what he had done when his mind was corrupted by the goldsickness.

The mithril chains clattered softly upon the stone floor as Thorin set it down.

There, amongst the small pile of gold, was what he was looking for. He scooped up the small pouch, placed the shirt and sword carefully back into the chest, and closed it.

He sat on his bed, meddling with the fabric of the pouch for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and drew the string open, turning it over in his hand.  
Two small beads fell out, intricate in design. With silver background, the patterns had interweaving red and blue lines. They had been their “colors”, as Thorin had his blue coat and Bilbo had worn his red.

Thorin rolled one of them between his fingers, remembering the stealthy way he had made them, so no one would suspect. The countless hours he had spent wondering how to ask Bilbo, and what he would say. He had to wonder still, if he hadn’t lost his memory, would Bilbo have stayed in Erebor? Would he have accepted Thorin’s courtship bead, display it so every Dwarf in the mountain and beyond knew that he was Thorin’s?

He couldn’t say when he had fallen for the Hobbit, but Thorin suspected that the burglar had stolen his heart when he saved him. A tiny little thing who had barely held a sword in his life, had come between Azog and Thorin to save him.

Bilbo had no idea that he had done that. He had no idea that he had singlehandedly stopped a war raged by a jealous Elf and a twisted Dwarf. He had no idea that his words drove the goldsickness out of his head. It pained Thorin to know all these years that Bilbo didn’t what a hero he was, even more than Bilbo not remembering him.

With determined resolve, he stood, ready to do whatever it took to convince Balin to agree to the mission. He was being given another chance, and he wasn’t going to let it go so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so tbh Thorin is probably going to be a little OOC, since I'm writing him more to fanon than canon. But its also an AU so quite technically I can't really give a damn


	3. Chapter 3

Bilbo sighed as he flipped through the day’s mail. Every day for weeks he’d awaited something akin to a reply, but there was still nothing from Gandalf. Perhaps it was in vain that he hoped, and it certainly would do no good to bombard the wizard with letters until it was answered, even if Bilbo had considered it. Perhaps it was something very unimportant… But the feeling that he got when he stared too long into a fire, or looking over a river, or merely wondering where the tall oak tree beside his garden had come from… He could not shake the feeling that it was.

“Morning, Mr. Bilbo!” a cheery voice called from the road.

Bilbo looked up from the admittedly small amount of letters, to see the bright face of Hamfast Gamgee. The gardener was wiping off some of the grime that covered his hands as he ambled to the gate.

“Good evening, Hamfast. How’s was the gardening today?” Bilbo asked amicably, as one should to the one that takes care of their garden.

“Mighty swell, but Mr. Bilbo, I wanted to say something to ya. There’s rumors floating around of someone coming around to Bag End. Or maybe someones?” 

“Oh if it’s one of those Sackville-Baggins again, I’ll not let Lobelia or any of her greedy relatives near the place!” Bilbo cried indignantly. 

“No, no, if it was Lobelia, she would’ve had to go through me first,” Hamfast declared, easing Bilbo’s mood.

“But then who could be coming?” Bilbo questioned.

“My apologies, but I’ve no idea. I’ve only heard whispers, and you know I’m not one for rumors or gossip, but I thought I’d ought to warn ya.”

Bilbo shook his head, “It’s alright. I suppose I should clean up a bit if I’m going to have company. Thank you, Hamfast.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Bilbo! And feel free to send Frodo over if it isn’t a particularly pleasant guest, I’m sure Samwise would appreciate the company.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

As Bilbo hurried back into his house with a wave goodbye, he started taking stock on what should be done to appease any gossip-ridden, hungry Hobbits, as surely the guests would be.  Frodo looked in from his room, toddling out with his stuffed bunny in his hands. 

“What are you doing, Uncle Bilbo?” he asked innocently as Bilbo ran around the armchairs, picking up stray books and toys. 

“I’ve been told we are to have guests, so I have to tidy up the house. Would you like to help?” Bilbo offered.

Frodo jumped excitedly, nodding furiously as he took the toys from Bilbo to put them back in their place. Bilbo returned the books back to their shelves, and Frodo bounced back, bunny-free, to receive the next command. 

Bilbo led him to the kitchen, where they took stock of food. Bilbo tsked as he glared into the near-empty pantry. He had been saving the trip for Sunday, but it seemed they would have to go to market now. 

“Maybe Primrose will be selling sweets!” Frodo shouted, as they walked to the marketplace.

“I certainly hope so. If not, we can come back when she is,” Bilbo offered, if only to see his nephew’s grin grow wider. 

As Frodo skipped ahead, Bilbo pondered on how much happier the young lad was with him. When his parents had first died, he’d been sent from house to house, sometimes for a single night. When Lobelia Sackville-Baggins took him in, it was only in the hopes that she would get inheritance for it. When she found out she wouldn’t, she had all but dumped him back on the road. Luckily, Bilbo was there to take the boy in after that. And he realized that he was all the happier too, as Frodo proved to be a good distraction from the loneliness he sometimes felt creeping up on him. He always dismissed it as a quirk from living alone so long, but how could he ever explain feeling homesick when he was at home?

He shook his head, trying to refocus on groceries. 

_Things for dinner, we could use more eggs. Certainly sugar for cookies, and it wouldn’t hurt to get more milk._

 

They had only just put the cookies in the oven when they heard it. Frodo was excited, and jumped down to clean the batter off of his hands. But Bilbo knew something was off. The knock was loud, three huge bangs that certainly no Hobbit was capable of producing. When he answered the door, his couldn’t stop his mouth from gaping at the sight.


	4. Chapter 4

Dwarves. Bilbo had heard about them, certainly, but he’d never encountered one himself before. Now, there were four of them on his doorstep. He was about to question who they were or why they were here, when he locked eyes with burning blue eyes. The very same ones that he had been seeing in his dreams. He couldn’t speak, he found, and realized that he was mindlessly gaping at them.

“Hello! I’m Frodo!” a small voice called from beside Bilbo, snapping him out of his trance.

“M-my apologies… Come in, I suppose.” Bilbo stammered, backing out of the doorway with his eyes cast to the floor.

He could feel the tips of his ears burn red as they walked past, setting their traveling packs down. He looked back up to see all four of them having an unofficial staring contest with Frodo. They seemed to be sizing each other up, before Frodo nodded his approval.

“Are you friends of Uncle Bilbo?”

He couldn’t be certain, but the blue-eyed gaze glanced back at him for a moment, with a look of… relief?

“We’d like to think so. Perhaps he doesn’t remember us, but he is most certainly a friend of ours.” The one who spoke was wearing a strange-looking hat, but he had a kind face as he spoke to the child.

On the contrary, the dwarf beside him was bald, gruff, and covered with scars. He had to battle-ridden axes that he had yet to remove, which did worry Bilbo more than a little.

“Why are you here? You don’t look like Hobbits…” Frodo speculated, with a touch of innocence that made it sound not as rude as it could have.

“Gandalf sent us,” the youngest one of them replied. He was much meeker in stature, and far less intimidating.

Bilbo had begun to speculate if this was the wizard’s doing. His nerves were on edge at the possibility that his dreams were truthful.

“Yes, he told of your troubles.”

Bilbo froze. The deep rumble of the blue-eyed dwarf’s voice… there was no denying it was the same one that he’d heard. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out: “I heard your voice in my dream!”

The dwarf stopped, blinking slowly before nodding. Bilbo flushed red, and was quite glad when Frodo began asking more questions, unaware of his Uncle’s embarrassment.

“Where did you come from?”

“We are from Erebor, a great Dwarven kingdom beyond the Misty Mountains. I am Thorin, and this is Dwalin, Bofur, and Ori.” he pointed at each of the dwarves in turn.

The look of awe was obvious on Frodo’s face as he stared at them.

“That’s- er… quite a long way to travel.” Bilbo said, recalling maps he’d seen. The Misty Mountains were far beyond the borders of the Shire.

“Yes. We’ve been on the road for weeks, with little stop.” Thorin replied, looking back at Bilbo.

“I… I suppose you’ll be staying a while then. You came all this way to help me?” Bilbo tried to wrap his head around why these… _Dwarves, of all things,_ would want to help him.

“Yes. You may not see it now, but you are much more than you think you are, Bilbo. It is one of my greatest regrets, that you are unaware of what you have done. But I will fix it, I swear it to you.”

Bilbo’s breath caught in his throat of Thorin’s words, and he had to look at the floor to lessen the effects of his piercing gaze. He heard giggling coming from across the room, and looked over to see that the other three dwarves had taken Frodo. The one with the funny hat, Bofur, was telling a dramatic story to the child, while the young one- Ori was his name? - sat beside them to listen. The big one, he must be Dwalin, seemed to be standing guard, and Bilbo wished that he would remove his axes. He turned his gaze back to where Thorin was still looking at him.

“Thank you…” he said quietly, still finding he couldn’t hold his gaze. “I wasn’t expecting the company of course, but I suppose I can find room for you to sleep. Oh, and I suppose you are hungry after your travels, I can fix up dinner. I wasn’t prepared for so many, I’ve only made tea and cookies, but it shouldn’t take long!” Bilbo had lost all sense of embarrassment as his hosting instincts took over.

He rushed to the kitchen, missing the fond smile Thorin gave him.

_Erebor… Erebor_ … something about the name rang in his mind. He felt the memories stirring in the back of his mind, but they were dark and unseeable. Frustration started gnawing at him again as he threw sausages onto the frying pan. He heard Bofur’s storytelling get dramatic as he pretended to be some great beast as Frodo laugh. It calmed his nerves and reminded him that he would get answers soon enough. The rattle of the near-empty cookie jar made him look around. Dwalin had his hand stuck in the jar, reaching for one of the last ones of that batch. Bilbo shook his head, deciding to ignore it. But something rattled in his mind, and he couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of Deja-vu.


End file.
